


the most precious thing

by heartofstanding



Category: 14th Century CE RPF
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Vaginal Sex, Wedding Night, overly romantic and sweet John of Gaunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 14:18:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20310907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartofstanding/pseuds/heartofstanding
Summary: John of Gaunt and Blanche of Lancaster's wedding night.





	the most precious thing

**Reading, 19 May 1359**

The celebrations for his marriage were still going on in the hall below. John could hear the bright music and the occasional cheers, though the sounds were muffled. He was sitting on the bed, dressed in only his shirt, and had dismissed his attendants. He thought that he might still like to be in that hall, to be at his bride’s side, feeding her the best portions, drinking from the same cup and exchanging kisses. Let everyone see them together, see him sitting at her side, as her beloved. But she wasn’t there anymore – she was behind the screen while her damsels undressed her and she would soon send them away. Then she and John would be alone with the bed, the sheets still damp with the priest’s blessing, and John wanted that more than anything else.

‘No, no,’ Blanche said, low-voiced. ‘Go. I can manage.’

He shut his eyes, heard swift feet and the door opening and closing, and when he opened them again, Blanche had rounded the screen and stood a little distance from him, clad only in her shift, so finely woven he could make out the shape of her nipples and the shadow of hair between her legs. Her hair, like silver and gold meshed together, was loose down her back. She smiled shyly at him.

‘Fancy seeing you here,’ she said.

It seemed strange, for all he had sat beside her and kissed her today, for all the years he had known her, he could not think of anything to say. His mouth was dry and he rose up to greet her, taking her hand in his and squeezing them lightly as he kissed her lips that still tasted of the honeyed sweets they had eaten.

She made a soft noise and pressed herself against him, cupping his cheek with her free hand and opening her mouth beneath his. He drew back, saw the rosy flush of her cheeks, lashes lowered over blue eyes, her lips flushed and swollen.

‘I love you,’ he said and she smiled at him, eyes flashing up towards him.

‘I love you too,’ she said.

He kissed her again because he wanted to and because he could, then took her shift in his hands, lifting it over her head and laying her bare to his eyes. He had long wondered what she was like beneath her gowns and, naked, she was fair beyond his imaginings. Her body was long and lean, curving at the hips, her skin pale and creamy, her breasts were generously round, her nipples a pale pink, her neck a slender column of ivory and her legs shapely. He kissed her hand, kissed her lips.

‘You are so beautiful,’ he said, framing her face in his hands and felt tears burning in his eyes. _She was his wife. _‘So beautiful.’

She laughed at him, more nervous than mocking.

‘You always say that,’ she said. ‘“Blanche, you are so beautiful” – as if you can think of nothing else.’

‘I’m not a poet,’ he said. ‘But I will hire one to praise you, so long as I don’t get too jealous of him.’

‘Oh John,’ she said. ‘Hire a woman-poet and then you can rest easy.’

‘Are there any such creatures?’

She smacked him. ‘Why shouldn’t there be? All a poet does is play with words, and a woman can do that as well as any man. And, you fool, you _like _Marie de France’s lais.’

He caught her in his arms and kissed her to stop the argument. ‘Find me a woman-poet and she will sing praise of your beauty all day.’

‘Well, at least it will be a change from your constant refrain,’ she said, laughing against his shoulder. ‘You could buy a popinjay and teach it to say nothing else but _you are so beautiful _and I’d not notice the difference.’

‘Liar,’ he said and cupped her face. ‘It couldn’t kiss you like I do.’

‘Well, no, I expect that would be quite painful,’ she said and kissed him.

Her hands went to grasp the bottom of his shirt and pulled it up over his head. She stepped back, his shirt falling from her hand to and her eyes traced over his chest. He knew he was attractive, broad-shouldered and well-muscled, though he wasn’t as comely as she was. He wasn’t a match for her at all and he was so lucky she had allowed herself to be given to him. Her eyes drifted down and her cheeks flushed a deeper rose when they landed on his crotch. She bit her lip and glanced back up at him.

‘And that – that’s supposed to go inside me?’

‘Um,’ he said. ‘Yes?’

‘It’s huge!’

He laughed and swept her up in his arms again, kissing her. ‘Thank you,’ he said, quite seriously, and then kissed her again. ‘It will fit, I promise.’

‘No, no,’ she said. ‘John, you mustn’t—’

‘It won’t hurt,’ he said.

‘Liar!’

‘Well, if it does, only a little,’ he said. ‘And not because it won’t fit!’

She stared at him and laughed, almost hysterically, and he knew he had to be gentle now, that he couldn’t push or make fun of her. If he did, he would ruin things and she deserved so much better than that.

He stroked a hand down her arm, kissed her white brow.

‘Alright,’ he said. ‘But let me – let me touch you?’

‘With what?’

‘Fingers and lips,’ he said. ‘Nothing else, I swear. I don’t care if I spend on the floor, Blanche, so long as I make you happy.

‘But you do make me happy,’ she said. She bit her lip again and then said, ‘Yes. Touch me.’

He kissed her lips again, letting his hands stroke through her hair, sweeping it out of his way as he kissed the column of her neck. Her breath quickened as his tongue pressed against the place where her pulse thrummed, her hands going up to trace down his arms. He kissed her collarbones next, then the snow of her rounded breast. She gasped, her fingers digging into his biceps, and he pressed her lips to her nipple, taking the stiff, pink bud of it inside his mouth. She gasped again, a soft whimper escaping her, and shivered all over. He cupped her other breast, running his thumb over the areola.

‘John,’ she said. ‘John.’

He kissed her breast again and moved to the other, not wanting to neglect any part of her, before moving down. He pressed his tongue inside her navel, made rows of kisses over her hip bones before dropping to his knees. He kissed her feet, her knees, the inside of her thighs before his attention went to the damp, golden curls at the junction of her thighs, and breathed in the scent of her arousal. He looked up at her; her face stared down at him, trusting and wanting.

‘May I kiss you here?’ he asked.

‘Oh,’ she gasped. ‘Oh please.’

He kissed her entrance and felt her shake, his hands wrapping around her thighs to hold her steady. He wondered, beginning to work his tongue over her wet folds, whether he should have had her lie down on the bed in case she fell. But it was too late now. His tongue delved inside and she cried out at that, her hands catching at his head, holding him close. He leant back to kiss her clitoris and heard her cries rise. He sucked at it, letting one finger push inside her before his tongue followed, drinking in the taste and smell of her, the sound of her cries. He would be content, he thought, to stay like this forever. It didn’t matter that he was hard, his cock leaking. He didn’t need to be inside her, only this.

Her cries rose and fell, sometimes half-whimpered, sometimes begging, and his knees grew sore, her hands trembled in his hair. But he kept constant, daring to press a second finger inside her. He felt her seize around his fingers and stagger, his hands reaching up to hold her as she came apart.

He held her steady throughout her orgasm, before drawing her down on the carpet beside him and staring wondrously at her, considering if she would let him kiss her when he tasted of her. He didn’t get to ask; she threw arms around his shoulders and pressed their lips together even as she still shivered.

‘Oh John,’ she said. ‘John – that was. I don’t know what to say – it was so, so…’

‘Good?’

She laughed breathlessly. ‘Better than good!’

‘I’ll do it again,’ he said. ‘Every night we’re together and every morning.’

‘I’ll follow you everywhere so I’ll never have to go without,’ she said, giggling. ‘But, John – you didn’t…’

She looked down at his cock, the flesh of it vividly red, and reached out with a finger to trace along the length of it. He hissed and she drew back.

‘Sorry! Did I – did that hurt? I’m so sorry.’

‘No, no,’ he said. Her panic was endearing. ‘It felt good. Just a little _too _good.’

‘Do you want me to keep touching it?’

He stared at her, scarcely believing his luck. ‘If – if you want to?’

‘I – we should go to bed,’ she said. ‘Please?’

He didn’t let his disappointment show. ‘Alright. Do you want me to take care of this—?’

‘No,’ she said and gave him a cheeky smile. ‘Take it with you.’

They moved to the bed and he held her close, kissing her as the blood in his cock pounded.

‘My turn,’ she said, moving to her knees beside him, stroking her hands over his face and bending to kiss him. Her hands wandered over his body, her lips following until she got near his cock again and she stroked it tentatively, her hands moving over its length. John groaned, gritting his teeth and trying to push back his arousal. He didn’t want to ruin things by spending himself over her beautiful face.

‘Can I kiss it?’

John moaned and clenched his eyes shut. ‘I might come.’

‘Oh,’ she said, her hand travelling lower to take hold of his stones, rolling them in her hand. ‘Is that bad?’

‘Well,’ he said, gasping. ‘You’d need to wash your face.’

She blinked up at him and then moved up to kiss him. ‘I think – John, do you swear to be gentle with me?’

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I swear it. I will never harm you.’

She bit her lip again. ‘Put it me.’

Fresh heat raced through his body. He reached up and held her to him, kissing her. ‘I love you,’ he said. ‘And tell me – if it’s too much. I’ll stop.’

She nodded, fingers digging into his shoulders. ‘I will.’

He rolled her onto her back, drew her knees up and settled between her spread thighs. She laughed, reaching out to tuck his hair behind an ear.

‘It feels like you’re going to lay siege to me,’ she said. ‘Is it that bad?’

‘No,’ he said and kissed her knees before leaning up to kiss her. ‘There are other… ways of doing it too, but this – this is probably easiest.’

Blanche’s eyes brightened. ‘We can try these _other ways _later,’ she said. ‘If this is not too bad.’

‘It should be fine,’ he said and hoped it would be. He kissed her breasts, felt his cock throb almost painfully, and kissed them again, running his tongue over her nipple, feeling it pebble tighter. She let out a little moan and he reached down, slipping his fingers inside her and massaging until she was shaking.

‘John,’ she said. ‘John, you’re not—’

‘Shh,’ he said and pulled his hand away, positioning himself. He had to breathe hard and close his eyes tight so he wouldn’t come at the first brush of his cock over her wet flesh. Her arms wrapped around him, her fingers dug into his back and this, too, helped.

He opened his eyes, wanting to see her, to reassure her, and she was staring at him, blue eyes huge in her face. He leant down and kissed her, began to slowly push inside and felt something resisting him one moment only to give way at the next. She grabbed at him harder, a gasp escaping her mouth.

‘Blanche?’

She shook her head. ‘I’m fine, it’s fine,’ she said. ‘Just – a pinch.’

He kissed her gently, rocking a little deeper inside her and there was no more resistance, just slick, warm flesh giving way. He pressed his hot face to her shoulder when he was entirely enveloped, feeling her tremble and pulse around him. He wanted to come, he wanted to weep. He leant up and kissed her again.

‘You fit?’ she said, dazed.

He nodded, kissed her again and began to move. Her hips followed him, trying to keep his penis inside her and she made those beautiful little cries again. He kept kissing her, wanting it to last and knowing it couldn’t. She was so warm and tight around him and he had been on the verge of coming for a good while before this. But he refused to leave her wanting. He rubbed at her clitoris, felt her shaking, her legs coming up around him as they moved together. He was weeping, tears running down his face to fall on her cheeks.

‘Blanche,’ he said and they came together.

*

After, when their breath had come back and their bodies were lulled, Blanche stroked his hair back from his face and kissed him gently.

‘I love you,’ she said.

He returned the words to her, kissed her back. It would never get better than this, he thought. They loved each other, they were married and their bodies fitted together so sweetly. They belonged to each other and that was the most precious thing.

**Author's Note:**

> **Historical Notes:**
> 
> Blanche of Lancaster and John of Gaunt were married 19 May 1359 at Reading Abbey, Reading in Berkshire. He was around 19 and, with Marie de St. Hilaire of Hainaut, already had one illegitimate daughter named Blanche. Blanche of Lancaster's birthdate is unknown but usually given as between 1340 and 1348. As there seems to have been no delay in the consumption of their marriage (Blanche gave birth to their first daughter, Philippa, on 31 March 1360 which suggests a conception date in July 1359), it is likely Blanche was 14 or older - in medieval society, a girl was considered "of age" at 14. I've chosen to write her as around the same age as Gaunt (so 19).
> 
> The evidence suggests Gaunt did love Blanche a great deal and genuinely mourned at her death. While his affair with Katherine Swynford is more celebrated (thanks to Anya Seton's novel) and and he first came in contact with her through her attachment to Blanche's household as governess to their children, the beginning of their affair is typically dated to 3-4 years after Blanche's death in 1368, and there is no evidence he was anything but loyal to Blanche throughout their marriage.
> 
> The physical description of Blanche is based, in part, on Geoffrey Chaucer's _The Book of the Duchess_, believed to be an elegy for her.
> 
> **Sources:**  
Anderson, Majorie. 1948. 'Blanche, Duchess of Lancaster', _Modern Philology_, vol. 48, no. 3, pp. 152-159.  
Licence, Amy. 2016. _Red Roses: Blanche of Gaunt to Margaret Beaufort_, The History Press.  
Loschiavo, Linda Ann. 1978. 'The Birth of "Blanche the Duchesse": 1340 versus 1347', _The Chaucer Review_, vol. 13, no. 2, pp. 128-132  
Palmer, J. J. N. 1947.'The Historical Context of the Book of the Duchess', _The Chaucer Review_, vol. 8, no. 4, pp. 253-261


End file.
